


Double Shift

by Willaphyx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, doctor!clarke, vending machine shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willaphyx/pseuds/Willaphyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Clarke has a disastrous encounter with a vending machine in the maternity ward and Bellamy happens to be there to witness (and laugh at) the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Shift

Clarke was five hours into her double shift and she felt like she was going to die. She was pretty sure she hadn’t eaten since breakfast (it was eight at night) and she knew that if she didn’t eat something soon she was going to pass out.

So as soon as she had a break, she ducked out from her rounds and headed for the vending machine in the maternity ward because it was always the best stocked.

She’d been expecting to grab a bag of chips, eat it in the elevator, and go back to working herself to the bone, as usual.

What she had not been expecting was her chips to get stuck in the vending machine. Now, this was something that had somehow never happened to Clarke. She’d once had a nightmare about it and woke up in a cold sweat (sue her, she liked her junk food) but it had never actually been a thing that happened in real life.

Now here she was, in the hallway of the maternity ward’s sixth floor, looking forlorn and out of place, staring at the vending machine and the bag of Ruffles cheddar and sour cream potato chips that were dangling by just the smallest amount.

She considered her options. She could shake it and hope that would get it out. She had a hand on either side of the vending machine when she realized this could potentially be much worse. Vending machines weren’t attached to the floor. She could topple it over. It could land on her. She could die. So that was out.

Next option. Shit. What was her next option? It was relatively low, in the bottom row of snacks (which was a strange placement for chips but she wasn’t going to complain), so theoretically she probably could get her arm up in there, grab them, and pull it back out. Theoretically.

Her stomach grumbled again. Okay, that was it, she was going in, consequences be damned. Clarke was going to have those chips or she was going to die trying.

She kneeled down, took a deep breath, and inserted her arm into the flap of the vending machine. How was it that she could me a legit medical doctor (with an absurd number of degrees on the wall of her office to prove it) and this still felt like the most serious and intricate surgery she’d ever done? It was a vending machine for God’s sake. Twelve year olds had probably done this successfully. And Clarke Griffin was going to be no differ-oh. Shit.

Her fingers had been just millimeters from grabbing the bag and she’d twisted her arm a bit, crowding even closer to the vending machine, and now she was stuck. And she wasn’t even touching the bag yet. She growled in frustration and tried to twist her arm back but no such luck. Naturally.

That was when she heard the snicker behind her. She whipped around (as much as she could anyway) and tried to ignore the searing pain in her shoulder to glare at the man leaning against the wall across the hall. He was handsome, she noticed, in a pair of dark washed jeans and a button down.

“What are you looking at?” she snapped, momentarily forgetting that she was a doctor at this institution and therefore had to be at least somewhat nice to the hospital’s patrons. But if he was going to laugh at her for an honest mistake (really, it could happen to anyone) then she had the right to snap at him.

He was handsome though. Like really handsome. Like out of this world, “what do your parents look like because they must be supermodels” handsome. And he was also in the maternity ward, she reminded herself. Which probably meant he had a wife or a girlfriend somewhere who was either pregnant or giving birth. Which meant he was very much not available. And she needed to stop looking at him like a piece of meat.

“Oh, just watching the free show.” He took a sip from the cup in his hands and when he lowered it he was grinning. “Having fun there, princess?”

“Not particularly,” she grumbled, giving her arm another wrench. It achieved nothing but making her wrist twinge with pain.

“Why is your hand in the vending machine anyway?” he asked conversationally as if he was asking her out the weather or her weekend.

She glared at him, incredulous. “Because I want my fucking chips. Now do you mind?”

“I do actually. I’m having a grand old time here.”

She heaved a deep sigh. “I’m so happy for you.”

He beamed. “Well, thanks, doc.”

“Sarcasm,” she muttered into the glass front of the vending machine.

Another dark laugh. “Oh, I know.”

“Please go away,” she said next. “I can suffer just fine alone, thanks.”

He shrugged and pretended to consider it. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then do you want to help me get my arm out?”

“No.”

“So you’re just going to stand there and watch.” It wasn’t a question. She knew the answer before he even opened his mouth.

“Well, yeah.”

“Aren’t you just a delightful person,” she grumbled. Her eyes zeroed in on his left hand. No ring. Which meant nothing. “Your poor wife.”

“Oh, I don’t have one. No girlfriend either.”

“Then what in God’s name are you doing in the maternity ward of a hospital?” she asked. “Do you just come to watch unsuspecting doctors get their hands stuck in vending machines?”

“Well, I will admit this is definitely an upside that I wasn’t expecting when I got out of bed this morning.” He grinned again. If she hadn’t been permanently tethered to the vending machine she would have hit him. “But since you asked, my sister is the one who’s in labor.”

“And you’re in the hallway?” She was incredulous. Who the hell was this guy?

He shrugged. “Her doctor said she still had a couple hours. Her husband’s with her. I went to the cafeteria for some coffee.” He held up the cup. “And then stumbled across you.”

During his statement, Clarke had managed to twist her fingers just a bit more. She felt like she was breaking all thirteen bones in her wrist simultaneously but at least she managed to grab the edge of the chip bag. She sprawled over slightly onto her back, completely aware of how ridiculous she looked (thank God she wasn’t close with any of the maternity ward doctors, they were all too happy and sunshine and rainbows-y for her taste), rotating her arm into another position, and then finally with one gigantic pull that had her biting down on her bottom lip, pulled out her arm.

She looked down the bag of chips, breathing hard. She was pretty sure this was the most beautiful bag of chips she’d ever seen. And she was going to savor every last bite of them.

The handsome stranger who was here for his sister clapped slowly. “Well done, princess,” he drawled. “Shame I didn’t get that on video, you could have become an overnight celebrity.”

She stood up slowly, massaging her wrist which hurt like a mother. “I am an award-winning pediatric neurosurgeon,” she said slowly. “Not someone who becomes an overnight YouTube celebrity for getting her arm stuck in a vending machine.”

“Seems like a valid claim to fame to me,” he replied. “Less words than whatever you just said.”

She sighed. “Whatever. I’m going to go now.”

He grinned again. He had dimples, too. Fuck. Clarke was such a sucker for dimples. “Sure thing, princess. See you around.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Clarke muttered to herself as she ripped open the bag of chips and grabbed a handful, shoving them in her mouth. “If I can do anything about it.”

She took the elevator down to her own floor and threw out the bag on her way back to her office. When she passed the nurses’ station, one of them called out to her. “Hey, Dr. Griffin? Someone from the maternity ward called and left you a message.”

Clarke stopped, then spun on her heel. Held out her hand for the message. The nurse handed it to her, written in legible looping handwriting across the hospital’s standard-issue stationery. “Thanks,” she said, folding it in half and stuffing it in the pocket of her coat.

It wasn’t until she was back in her office, collapsed in her chair, that she allowed herself to open it. “For Princess,” it said a the top. She groaned and almost threw it away without reading the rest but her curiosity got the better of her. Underneath the obnoxious header was a name, Bellamy, and a phone number with a local area code.

She stared at it for a minute, speechless. Did he seriously think that would work? Was he seriously the type of guy who tried to pick up girls who he found with their arm stuck in a vending machine? Honestly. What kind of psycho was he? She made a sound of disgust and threw it into the garbage can. Or at least, she tried to. Her hand just wouldn’t let go of the paper.

She looked at it again for a minute, considering. What was the harm really? she asked herself. Everything, Clarke, she answered. Don’t do it. Do not call him.

But then she remembered how hot he was. And those freckles. And those dimples. Clarke really couldn’t express how much she loved dimples. She groaned again and flattened out the message on the desktop.

She pulled out her phone and typed out a quick “what do you want?” then pressed send before she could convince herself not to.

Her phone chirped back almost immediately. So he was a fast texter. That was a point in his favor.

For you to let me take you to dinner.

Then another text: Dr. Clarke Griffin.

Damn him. He’d figured out her name. She chewed on her lip.

What did you have in mind? she texted back.

Another immediate response: You been to that new Italian place that opened downtown yet?

She hadn’t. But she’d done some sleuthing around their menu. It was expensive and looked delicious. That’s pretty fancy, she replied.

She stared at her phone for a minute, then five, then ten. Nothing. Sighing, she jiggled her mouse and surveyed her calendar for the rest of the day.

“Well,” a familiar voice drawled from her open doorway, “I met this pretty interesting woman in the hallway earlier and I want to take her out somewhere nice.”

Clarke spun in her chair. He was leaning in her doorway, smirking. “What are you doing here?”

“The texting wasn’t doing it for me. Anyway, I figured you’d say no and I wanted to try to make my case in person.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “Well, you’re wrong.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Am I? About what?”

“I’m saying yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


End file.
